


You Color My World

by akaatsuki



Category: Ensemble stars!
Genre: Copious displays of affection, M/M, hello my name is dawn and welcome to keimao [smashes guitar]
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-28
Updated: 2017-07-28
Packaged: 2018-12-07 22:43:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11633475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akaatsuki/pseuds/akaatsuki
Summary: The sakura are blooming now, adorning the once bare branches of tall trees with soft hues of pink. With the window of the council room open, the crisp, welcoming air of spring floods in, bringing in the season’s gifts: the delicate smell of flowers in bloom, the mild temperature that has risen from the chill of winter, and the kitten sneeze of Isara Mao, signifying the beginning of allergy season once more.





	You Color My World

**Author's Note:**

> in which keito finds himself enjoying the beginning of spring more than anticipated.

Surely, there were more _productive_ ways that they could spend their day.

That is what the vice-president of Yumenosaki’s student council tells himself in self-reflection as he completely ignores every single productive alternative to his current use of his time. With the beginning of spring arriving and the date of graduation creeping ever closer, it's only obvious that the student council would be swamped with more work than ever. Between stacks of paperwork, schedules to organize, and events to plan, it was virtually impossible to see _any_ member of the council with free time during the final months of the school year. Even Himemiya, who often enjoyed simply passing the bulk of his work onto his servant or sweet-talking the president to get out of it, was seen hard at work in order to maintain the organization of the system.

The sakura are blooming now, adorning the once bare branches of tall trees with soft hues of pink. With the window of the council room open, the crisp, welcoming air of spring floods in, bringing in the season’s gifts: the delicate smell of flowers in bloom, the mild temperature that has risen from the chill of winter, and the kitten sneeze of Isara Mao, signifying the beginning of allergy season once more.

The second year sniffles, quietly excusing himself yet another time. Keito, who seems to have taken the hint, rises from the chair of his desk to close the window, though finds himself a bit disappointed that the fresh air will, unfortunately, be locked out along with the pollen that rides along it. Though, with Mao sitting at the edge of Keito’s desk, studying the papers in his hands with an adorably determined look upon his face, Keito supposes that it isn’t much of a sacrifice at all. Rather, if it would rid the other’s lips of his smile, then it was certain that he could make do without it.

As he walks back to his desk and watches Mao flip to the final page of the packet he was holding, he places his hands upon the surface of the desk just beside the other’s legs, forehead lightly bumping against Mao’s as he looks down at the typed words. Keito observes as Mao takes it all in with a profound intensity, before seeming to finish the final sentence. He lifts his chin, looking at Keito with bright, shimmering eyes, and the vice-president can’t quite stop himself from moving forward just enough to close the space between them. Mao’s lips seem to only get softer with each kiss they share, melting against his own like a sweet honey. Keito can hear the soft shuffling of the papers that Mao sets down upon the desk, and without thinking of it, he reaches his hand out to entwine his slender fingers with Mao’s, his other hand gently finding its place against the treasurer’s cheek.

He could never quite find anything else that initiated this now familiar feeling within his stomach other than Mao’s presence. Not the tell-tale signs of spring, nor the satisfaction of winning a live, nor even the rush that came with graduation; no, none of it quite compared to _that_ feeling. The feeling of kissing Mao, or feeling the warmth of his body against his own, or even allowing their hands to touch---there was simply nothing that could rival the love that bloomed in his chest. It would be so easy to stay this way forever, he thinks, always able to have Mao within arm’s reach.

Their lips slide apart from each other naturally, and Mao can feel Keito’s light breath warm upon his lips as they remain so close to his. The next few seconds feel like an eternity before Mao’s face flushes with embarrassment, and he shifts his gaze around several times, his free hand curling up against his stomach as he puts on a sheepish smile.

“Ah…um, I didn’t find any mistakes in the schedule,” he looks towards the packet he’d placed on the desk, squeezing Keito’s hand a bit in his own, “s-so, I think it’s fine to present…”  

Keito’s chuckle is light and breathy as he leans forward to give him a brief kiss, because Mao’s flushed, bashful expression is simply too much for him to pull away from.

“Good, then,” he murmurs simply, “we still have a lot of work to do, so we can’t quite afford to waste time redoing things.”

And yet despite his words, Keito seems to still be set on focusing far more on _Mao_ than on the workload that still rests upon the shoulders of the student council. A small voice in the back of his mind reminds him of how diligently both Mao and himself have been working for the past few weeks to ensure a proper schedule, and he thinks to himself that perhaps a day of slacking a bit is something they can not only _afford,_ but _deserve._ Of course, in _his_ mind, he’d much rather say that _Mao_ is the one who deserves to be given more leniency and to be spoiled a bit, given how professionally and precisely he carries out every order and every request with minimal issues. Mao, who always arrives ten minutes early to student council meetings after school, who dedicates even his free time to getting more work done for the sake of others while juggling all of his other responsibilities, and who does it _all_ with a smile.

When Keito adds just about every good quality he can possibly name about the second year to the fact that he doubts there’s ever been or ever _will_ be anyone that he could love more, a day of procrastination _hardly_ sounds debatable to him, even given the rigid nature he displays to others. Though, undoubtedly, Mao seems to be the only person who can so easily make his way past Keito’s stoicism. And to top it all off, he never even seems to be _aware_ that he’s capable of disarming the vice-president’s defenses, and yet still perpetually looks up to him as a figure of authority.

The thumb of his right hand, which had still been affectionately resting upon the side of Mao’s face, gently strokes the soft skin of his cheek. It was that simple innocence that the kouhai possessed that made it feel as though he were something far more delicate than he appeared to be to others, as if he were something that was not _supposed_ to be touched, but rather to be observed and admired. And even though it was quite obvious that Mao was capable of withstanding copious amounts of pressure and hardship, there was a profound purity about him that made it so Keito almost expected the light color of his skin to wither into a bruising purple beneath his touch. Of course, he still could rarely resist coddling the other when the opportunity so presented itself, for it was quite literally impossible to develop enough self-control to turn down Mao’s upturned eyes.

He supposed it had always been this way, however; he’d always been so set on shielding Mao from the troubles and burdens that he’d taken on himself as a member of the student council. Even if he wouldn’t admit such a thing, Keito couldn’t remember a time in which he _didn’t_ fret over preserving that innocent, optimistic smile that the treasurer so often wore. It was true that he’d always been fond of his kouhai, _far_ more than towards his senpai and his fellow classmates, and perhaps that was why even from the first day, every part of him urged him vehemently to spoil and care for Mao while he still radiated such warmth and enthusiasm. And while he always scolded himself for being so soft when trying to discipline his kouhai, Mao was always, _always_ the exception, for he couldn’t possibly find it within himself to be as harsh on him as he was on others.

Mao’s hand holds Keito’s firmly, and Keito finds himself longing to keep it in his grasp forever. His hands were smaller than his and seemed to fit perfectly against his palm, as if it were made precisely for the unique shape of Keito’s own hand. Mao looks up at him, emerald irises glimmering with the same love and admiration they’d always held when seeing the vice-president, and a blissful smile dances upon his lips as he lifts his free hand to rest atop Keito’s.

“I don’t think that you want to work much today, Fukukaichou,” he remarks, tone cheeky and yet docile all at once, “you don’t seem very focused.”

Keito almost laughs at what Mao points out, but settles instead for an amused smile that blossoms across his features like the blooming of the sakura.

“No,” he chuckles, his eyelids fluttering closed for a moment as he attempts to stem the color that begins to flood into his cheeks, “I suppose not. Though, you _are_ being quite the distraction when sitting on my desk, Mao.”

Caught off-guard by the use of his given name(even though Keito had _long_ since ditched the formal use of _“Isara”_ while Mao kept Keito’s title of _“Fukukaichou”_ ), Mao looks away, brows knitting together as one of his cheeks puffs into an insistent pout.

“You _asked_ me to come and sit over here, though,” he sulks, “and I was even _trying_ to work, you know…”

“Did I?” Keito hums playfully, leaning in to press a chaste kiss to Mao’s forehead, unable to hold back a light-hearted smile, “my memory must be failing me, then.” 

Obviously, he remembered perfectly well his own words; however, passing up a chance to see the cute pout that would overtake Mao’s expression upon his teasing would be a waste. After taking a few moments to collect himself, the kouhai takes further hold of Keito’s right hand so that he could hold them both, sliding off of the edge of the desk and back onto his feet. At first, Keito begins to think that he’s going to simply retreat back to his _own_ desk and go back to work, and a feeling of disappointment settles in his chest. However, holding the vice-president’s hands by his sides, Mao looks up at him with that sweet smile of his.

“Then…do you want to go for a walk in the courtyard together?” he asks, and even though they’ve been affectionate for some time now, still finds a hint of timidness in his own voice, “if you’re having that much trouble focusing, I mean. It’d be nice to see the sakura, wouldn’t it?”

Keito thinks on this for a few moments, glancing back to the paperwork that decorated the surface of his working desk: formal requests for live performances, unfinished schedules for school events, and plenty of other technical work that had to be sorted out for last few months of the school year. If he really, _truly_ wanted to, he could resist his temptation and get in another day of hard work to contribute to their already overbearing schedule. However, he knows well how tedious it can be to work hours upon hours without any break, and while he may be fine putting such a burden upon himself, he decides quite quickly that Mao most _certainly_ deserves it. Besides, he finds that it’s always when the two are together that Mao seems to smile the brightest and glow the most brilliantly. And to Keito, such a thing could _never_ be considered a waste of time.

“That sounds rather nice,” he answers genuinely, squeezing Mao’s hands in his own as he looks down at him with affection dancing behind his eyes, “I wouldn’t mind that at all.”

Even if it meant he might have to do a bit of extra work later on as a result of slacking off, Keito finds that he doesn’t mind it at all. He’s certain that allowing himself to spend some free time with his dearest kouhai was most definitely worth it.

And of course, there were certainly _less productive_ ways that they could spend their day, as well.

**Author's Note:**

> i can't believe i begun the keimao tag...god this ship needs more attention please love my soft boys. they love each other so much. also i'm sorry for not posting anything for like three months i promise i'm not dead i've returned with precious keimao content.
> 
> follow me on twitter at @keitomao for extremely cryptic keimao tweets at 3 AM.


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